


Love Me in the Light

by BonesAndScales



Series: Lay my heart down [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Collars, Dom Will Graham, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Spanking, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Tenderness, They're so in love it's disgusting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Total Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: Three cups of tea and counting, Will might see the sun rise at his rate. Cora and Clio are keeping him company though they do little more than snooze at his feet, keeping them warm—Hannibal’s job, usually, but god knows where he disappeared to. Daphne had trotted back to her little bed long ago and honestly Will would have done the same if only all their hunting knives were accounted for.As they recover from the fall, isolation makes Hannibal reckless.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Lay my heart down [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930498
Comments: 7
Kudos: 157
Collections: Sub Hannibal Week 2020





	Love Me in the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Some non-sexual D/s to start off the Sub Hannibal Week because I promised Sarah I'd write one ages ago, it's time I deliver. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Hours have passed since Hannibal slipped out of bed.

That is a bit too long for a midnight walk.

Three cups of tea and counting, Will might see the sun rise at his rate. Cora and Clio are keeping him company though they do little more than snooze at his feet, keeping them warm—Hannibal’s job, usually, but god knows where he disappeared to. Daphne had trotted back to her little bed long ago and honestly Will would have done the same if only all their hunting knives were accounted for. And if Hannibal had actually slept rather than pretended to be asleep until Will pretended to fall asleep before tip toeing out of the room.

Will’s rifle is on the table beside his elbow, just in case Hannibal comes back with guests. Or in case guests show up without Hannibal.

The rusty door of the back entrance of their property creaks, not so loudly but in the dead of the night it is akin to thunder. The dogs perk up, and Cora jumps to her feet, barking at the top of her lungs. Will puts his mug down and grabs his rifle, getting up to open the glass door of the kitchen, aiming at the general direction of the path leading to the house. It is a tense minute that passes, listening to the rustling of grass and gravel getting closer.

And there he is, the man, the beast, the legend. Thankfully alone. And covered in blood of course because Hannibal Lecter must never make a discreet entrance.

He stops when he sees Will, his chest heaving, his grip so tight it quivers on the aforementioned missing hunting knife. At least he did not lose it at the crime scene. His other hand holds onto a cooler and that is very good news indeed. Not because there will be human sausage on the menu soon, but because it means that if Hannibal had the time to cut up and retrieve organs from whomever poor soul passed away tonight, he also had the time to clean up said crime scene, thus it is not as much of a fuck up as the pool of blood implies. It is a pity he has not also wiped himself down a bit before coming back but oh well, scrubbing the floor is a far better alternative to going back to trudge through the forest to erase evidence at four in the morning.

Will lowers his rifle, and gestures Hannibal inside with a movement of his head. Hannibal’s shoulders sag with relief, and he comes in, making a mess of the floor while Will corals the girls back in the living room with Daphne, locking them in there so they won’t try to make a mess of themselves rolling around in viscera. Cora makes her outrage well known and keeps howling at them through the door.

When he comes back, Hannibal is still standing at the entrance awkwardly, looking for all the world like a kid about to get scolded for having played in the mud and rendered their clothes unsalvageable. Well, all things considered that is exactly what it is, replacing mud with blood.

“Is that your blood?”

Hannibal shakes his head.

“Are you injured?”

Another shake of his head.

“Okay, leave that here,” Will says, pointing at the cooler. “And leave your clothes too,” he adds. Better to minimise the amount of blood that will be dragged across the house.

Hannibal puts the cooler on the floor, the knife on top. He painstakingly works himself out of blood soaked clothes sticking to his skin, sending droplets and flakes flying all around him in a halo. Will has got to admit the spectacle is kind of hot, but the bleaching nightmare ahead is completely negating the effect.

Once naked, Hannibal stares at Will with a strange look, an odd mix halfway between vulnerability and defiance. Maybe he is waiting for Will to explode and kick him out of the house for breaking the promise not to go hunting, because they need to keep a low profile until they have both recovered. What a ridiculous thought. What would they do apart?

Will jerks his chin towards the doorway. “Go shower, I’ll join you in a bit.”

Hannibal looks at him warily for a moment longer before finally uprooting from his spot. He walks briskly past Will—no limping, no swaying, he should be fine on his own for a while—and Will gets to work to salvage the kitchen.

* * *

Finally done cleaning up what he could, and leaving to soak what he could not, Will joins Hannibal in the bedroom. The blood must be a pain to scrub off because the water has been running for a solid hour now. It is the water bill that is soon going to be a pain in the ass too.

It is dark in the room, but a sliver of light trickles in through the ensuite door. Will pushes it open and walks into a solid wall of steam.

“Hannibal? Are you alright?”

He can make out his silhouette in the shower stall, standing still under the stream. There is not an ounce of modesty left between them—they had had to rely on each other for months, for changing bandages, feeding, cleaning, using the toilet… privacy has no meaning between them anymore—so Will slides the door open to peer inside.

Hannibal has his face upturned towards the spray, eyes closed, letting the water run down his body. His skin is pink from the heat and starting to prune.

“Jesus, Hannibal,” Will steps into the stall, getting soaked himself and turns the water off. Hannibal blinks at him, looking as though he just emerged from some kind of trance. “Did you clean up properly, at least?” Will inspects him, turning him this way and that, checking his nails, his hair, anywhere blood and dirt could have gotten stuck.

“I did,” Hannibal says, though he lets Will maneuver him.

“Oh, you got your tongue back too.”

Hannibal's mouth pinches in a frown, in a sort of child-like indignation, but he does not snap back. He would have, usually.

Finding him squeaky clean, what with the amount of time he spent in there, Will pulls him out of the stall and grabs a couple towels, throwing one over Hannibal’s head and rubbing him dry with the other. Hannibal seems to get his motor functions back as well and perfunctorily rubs his hair then holds the towel around himself.

“I shouldn’t have let you clean up for me, that was inconsiderate of me.”

“Well, yeah. Blood is a bitch to clean out of, well, everything. You’d know, you’ve been a surgeon,” Will says as he crouches down to rub Hannibal’s legs, tapping the inside of his thigh to bid him to spread his knees a bit and drying him there too. Hannibal does not even flinch, malleable in Will’s hands, receptive to any cue. Something terrible must have happened to make him so meek, not at the crime scene itself but… whatever pushed him to break his promise. Will is not sure how to proceed here. “Thank god the kitchen is tiled, I think I would have just ripped the floor off if you got it into the bedroom’s carpets. I threw your clothes in the laundry, by the way, but I’m not certain we can save them.”

“Thank you,” Hannibal says after a long pause.

Will straightens back up, hangs his towel back on the wall and pulls the one around Hannibal’s head down to his shoulders. He cups Hannibal’s face and catches his mouth in a chaste kiss. To his relief, Hannibal snaps out of his trance, pressing back against Will, sighing into the kiss.

“I was worried sick,” Will whispers against his mouth when they part.

Hannibal matches his tone. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“If I thought you were I don’t think I would have come back like this.”

Will frowns. “Hannibal,” he says firmly, catching his attention, “even if you think I’m going to scream and throw potatoes at you, I want you to come back to me always, do you hear me? Don’t vanish in the rain again.”

Hannibal sends him a searching look, so much more intense than the unfocused, almost dissociative stare he has been sporting all morning. Will holds it and eventually Hannibal nods.

“I shall remember this.”

Will hangs the second towel back on the wall, and grabs a third towel for himself, throwing his soaked sleepwear in the hamper. Both naked and dry, he leads Hannibal by the hand back into the bedroom. He pulls fresh pajamas from the drawer and throws them at Hannibal, before taking boxers and a shirt for himself.

“It’s going to be morning soon,” Hannibal says, looking out the window.

Will looks at the clock on the nightstand. A little over an hour before the time he usually wakes up for his morning run. Fuck it, he will just get up to let the girls out in the yard then tumble back into bed. Now that everything is cleared up, the exhaustion hits him like a freight train and he falls face first onto the mattress. “Yes, and neither of us has slept a blink tonight. Pull the curtains, will you?”

Hannibal does not protest any further, draws the curtains closed, and joins him in bed. They snuggle back into each other’s arms, Will slotting against his side and holding him close, sighing in content.

“Why did you do this, Hannibal,” he mumbles against his shoulder. Before Hannibal can answer—not that Will believes he would have actually told him right now—he adds, “Actually, I know why you did this, but I want you to tell me yourself. With your words. Later.”

He feels Hannibal nod, and, satisfied, lets himself be pulled back into the arms of Morpheus.

* * *

Today’s lunch is chicken bone broth as Will has forbidden Hannibal to do anything with the trophies from the night before until further notice, not because of any lingering moral issue, but because Hannibal’s intestines are still fragile and Will would rather not have him get dehydrated through repeated bouts of diarrhea again. He will probably dispose of said trophies eventually, since Hannibal cannot eat it, Will won’t eat it, and absolutely won’t feed it to the girls—he does not know nor wants to know the provenance of the meat.

“The past few months, as we have been recovering, has felt increasingly like a loss of control. We live day by day with the apprehension that we'll be caught, unable to plan for anything.”

“I thought you were the type to seize the day.”

“I was, in the sense that I tried to make the most of my days. I’m used to abiding by a daily schedule, but more than that, being on the run adds another dimension to my discomfort,” Hannibal says. “Our situation is very precarious, we’re surviving rather than living. There is no structure whatsoever besides escape plans.”

Hannibal slowly swirls his spoon in his bowl as he analyses his own actions. Perhaps a metaphor for his inner turmoil, Will assumes everything is a metaphor when Hannibal is involved.

“Too many unknown variables keeps you on edge. You are so used to controlling every aspect of your life, losing control is terrifying you,” Will comments idly, more to show his own attention to what Hannibal is saying than to engage a debate. “It’s not unusual for people to resort to self destruction as a desperate grasp for control.”

Will knows that, despite how much he wants to set himself apart from the human population, Hannibal is no different than the rest of them when overwhelmed by a situation, although getting him to admit it is another story altogether. He had killed Abigail, tried to kill Will multiple times, surrendered himself to the FBI, and now, tried to sabotage the safety of their new haven.

Hannibal mulls over the words a moment. Daphne and Clio are snoozing under the table, and Cora keeps putting her paws or head on Will’s thighs, begging for some chicken, which he denies her knowing she will only demand more if he caves.

“Loss of control has always had… a bad association in my mind, bringing me back to times where I was helpless. I tend to react viscerally to it.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Will says. But it is too dangerous to have Hannibal lash out and commit murder whenever he is scared. “Would you like to try and learn to relinquish control?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yesterday, when you were sort of out of it, you let me take care of you. You were relinquishing control to me in a way. Did you feel like you were about to lash out at me?”

Hannibal puts down his spoon, his brow pinching as he ponders over the matter. “No. It felt comforting. Even if it was a loss of control on my part, I had the certainty you would care for me in this situation.”

“Do you think that could help you overcome your fear? Erase those bad associations and replace them with more comforting ones.”

“It could, in theory.”

“Would you like to try it again?”

“I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Perhaps sensing that Hannibal is more in need of cuddles than Will is, Cora deserts him to go rest her head on Hannibal’s lap instead. She whines like she has not eaten for days, even though Will just fed them, and Hannibal gives her a bit of chicken. Devious girl.

* * *

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes in the afternoon where Will decides what Hannibal does, that is what they agree on.

Hannibal is skittish all day, his nerves getting the better of him as he waits for three in the afternoon to roll by. Will never strays too far from him, hugging him and dropping kisses on his cheeks when he feels his apprehension peak.

When finally the time comes, Hannibal is tense like a rubber band, ready to snap at any moment. Will lets the dogs play outside, making sure Hannibal won’t have anything to focus on but him and what he asks of him. He cups his jaw and kisses the strained line of his mouth.

“If you get uncomfortable, at any moment, tell me. We’ll stop and talk it out, yes?”

Hannibal nods, his hands holding Will at the waist to steal one more kiss before they start, for courage. It is endearing to see him like this and overall, it is extremely gratifying to have him rely so completely on Will for comfort. Will has earned that trust through the years with his own blood and a handful of murder sacrifices, and he does not intend to lose it now.

Will sits him on the couch and hands him the book he retrieved from his nightstand. “You will read beside me for half an hour.”

Hannibal frowns at him in confusion when Will settles down beside him with his own book and starts to read.

Noticing Hannibal keeps staring at him, he says, “Go ahead.”

Puzzled but willing to trust whatever Will's intentions are, Hannibal opens his book.

Will can feel his attention focused on him throughout the half hour, small glances sent his way every now and again. He is waiting for something to happen, obviously, bracing himself for it, even. But Will said they would spend the half hour reading and he shall stick by the plan he announced. The point is to make Hannibal understand that giving away his control will be rewarded with stability, not discomfort.

When the half hour is done, Hannibal closes his book with a thump. He sighs, eyes sliding closed as though trying to find some sort of meaning to what they just did. Finding nothing he says, “I don’t see how different it is from our usual routine.”

“How does it feel?”

Hannibal hums, tapping his index finger on the cover. “I'm unsure what your intent is, I fail to see the point of the exercise if you don't take control.”

“Were you expecting me to take advantage of you?”

Hannibal remains eloquently silent. Will scoots closer to nuzzle his cheek tenderly. Hannibal responds to the touch positively, nuzzling back.

“This is why you're so terrified of losing control,” Will says. “You fear you'll be hurt if you show vulnerability.”

“Not an unfounded fear.”

“Yes. That's why we're doing this. I want you to understand that I'm not _taking_ your control, you're giving it to me. And I will treasure your submission for the gift it is.”

Hannibal sighs, leaning against him. Will wraps an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple.

“The point is not to upend our lives, but for you to defer to me,” he says, rubbing Hannibal's upper arm. “I want you to feel safe in my care, not unmoored. I want you to have the certainty that I will care for you, in all and any situation,” Will says, mirroring Hannibal's words from the day before.

Hannibal nods after a moment. “I suppose you intend to increase the level of deference I give you.”

“Only as much as you're comfortable with.”

And so they set a schedule. Everyday at the same hour, for half an hour Hannibal gives Will control over him. Will never really strays from their usual activities, asking Hannibal to read with him, or take the dogs out with him or by himself, or cook this and that. He can see Hannibal easing into the schedule, no longer apprehensive at the approach of the appointed time.

So he tries to push a little further.

“I'll be working on my lures today. You will sit by me.”

Hannibal frowns, looking at the small bench. “It'll be a tight fit.”

“You're sitting on the floor.”

As expected, Hannibal is skeptical. There is a small chance he might find the thing ridiculous and call their entire arrangement off, but so far those daily half hours have been beneficial to him. The homicidal urges were so omnipresent Will only realised Hannibal had them when they started to ebb away. Truly amazing, the things you assimilate.

After much internal deliberation, Hannibal nods. “Fine, I shall do it then.”

“Okay,” Will says, settling on the bench. “Take off your shoes, you’ll be more comfortable.”

Hannibal places his shoes to the side of the table and sits on the floor beside Will’s chair. Thankfully they had bought a plethora of soft rugs for the house, so Hannibal will not be ruining his knees on the wooden slats. Clio trots up to them, pushing a curious nose against Hannibal’s shoulders, he looks at her in puzzlement, unsure what he would be allowed to do.

“Not now, girl, we can play later when daddy’s done.” Will pulls her in and kisses the top of her head before sending her away.

About ten minutes into the session, Will starts to feel discomfort emanating from Hannibal.

“Are your legs getting numb?” he asks, without looking away from his lure. He hears Hannibal shift where he is sitting.

“No.”

“Your back is starting to hurt?”

“No.”

Will glances at him, sitting with his back perfectly straight. He is not squirming, not trying to shift his weight uncomfortably. Will pushes the chair away from the table a bit, startling Hannibal with the sudden movement.

“Come here,” he says, gesturing to him to get closer.

Hannibal scoots in the small space between the table and the chair, somehow managing to still look graceful. With a hand on the back of his head, Will pulls him in until he is sitting right at his feet, his head resting on Will’s thigh. Will hears him inhale deeply, holding the air in his lung a moment before letting it out in a sigh.

“You okay?”

Hannibal nods against his leg.

“Good. Stay here.” Will cards his fingers in his hair twice before getting back to working on his lure.

As the minutes tick by, Will feels Hannibal letting more of his weight on him, his breathing evening out, until all the tension leaves him and his chest rises and falls deeply. He is not asleep—Will knows the exact speed and pattern of Hannibal’s breathing when he sleeps—but he is not far from it, caught in the liminal space between.

When the thirty minutes are done, Will strokes his head to get his attention. Hannibal blinks up at him, eyes half mast as though pulled from deep sleep.

“Time’s up,” Will says softly, combing his hair back from his forehead.

“Are you done with the lures?” Hannibal asks, voice scratchy, almost hoarse.

“Not yet, just need a few more finishing touches for that one and I’ll be done.”

Hannibal nods, and nuzzles his head back against Will’s leg. Will does not say anything, and finishes his lure.

* * *

As the days pass, their scheduled half hour turns into an hour, into two, into three, into half the day. Hannibal becomes more and more comfortable giving control to Will. The more time their sessions last, the more tasks Will has to plan, from routine tasks like cooking and helping him scrub the house and clear the yard, to personal tasks like choosing his clothing and deciding what he can eat, to more… leisurely things like snoozing on Will’s lap or serving as footrest. It startles Hannibal the first time Will tells him to go take a bathroom break, but he catches on fast and from then on, always waits for Will’s permission before going to relieve himself.

“There’s something bothering you,” Will says one day as they have settled down to rest, waiting for the end of the session.

He is sitting on the couch with a new book, while Hannibal is on the floor at his feet, his head cushioned on Will’s leg. When Will’s hand lands on his nape, kneading the muscles in his neck and the top of his shoulders, he sighs in content.

“I’m feeling restless. Something itches under my skin.”

Will could tell since breakfast when Hannibal was fidgeting with his cutlery. He had scheduled a handful of easy, mindless tasks to help Hannibal clear his head but it seems they have failed to disperse the persistent buzz in his head. Ideally, Will would have had Hannibal work off excess energy, like he would with the girls when they were antsy, but with Hannibal still being convalescent, well, there aren’t that many options available.

“I feel like I’m going to lash out again. It’s not… an urge. Yet. But something is pushing me in that direction.”

Will cards his fingers in Hannibal’s hair a few times, then tightens his grips as though tightening the metaphorical leash around Hannibal’s neck, and pulls until he hisses and looks up at him.

“What do you want me to do?” Will asks.

“I think you should…” Hannibal trails off, swallowing.

“Yes?”

“...hit me.”

Well. Will supposes it would have come to that one way or another.

“How do you want me to hit you?”

Hannibal worries the inside of his cheek, thinking. Will tightens his grip. “Perhaps you could spank me. You can build up the pain without much risk of any permanent damage.”

“You think it would work? You have quite the pain tolerance,” Will points out, thinking about the terrible brand across Hannibal’s back.

“My mind shuts down when faced with extreme pain. A spanking isn’t so severe that it would throw me into a dissociative state, but I think it would be enough to settle my agitation.”

Will considers the idea a moment, then puts his book down, and straightens up on the couch.

“Alright, up. Pull down your pants, please.”

Hannibal gets to his feet and hooks his fingers in his waistband to pull both pants and underwear down his thighs.

Will pats his leg and Hannibal plops down on his belly across him. Will rearranges him a bit, until his pelvis rests on his knees, pushing his ass up. He pulls his pants further down around his knees and rucks his shirt up to his shoulder blades.

Hannibal pushes up on his elbows and Will leans down to kiss his mouth, his hands stroking the prickly skin of his thighs and his back.

“How many?”

“Until I settle down, I suppose?”

“That’s very vague.”

“I’ll trust your perception about my own limits.”

Will kisses his cheek. “If it’s too much you can stop me anytime.” He presses Hannibal down against the couch with a hand on his upper back. Hannibal rests his head on his crossed arms, sighing softly.

He strokes Hannibal’s skin for a moment, from the back of his thighs to his tailbone, squeezes a firm cheek before laying a harsh slap there. Hannibal barely reacts but for the momentary tightening of his muscles. Will sets up a quick pace, alternating between cheeks and thighs, putting decades of manual work into the task.

His hand leaves bright pink patches on the pale skin, that turn into an angry red the more he spanks him. Hannibal muffles soft moans in his arms, squirming into Will’s lap as the heat builds up. Will stops to squeeze a reddened cheek and leans down to kiss his shoulder, before setting back to work.

They have been at it for a while when Hannibal’s moans get louder and closer to whimpers of pain. His arm is starting to burn and the skin of Hannibal’s ass and thighs are veering towards a deeper red hue, verging on purple.

When finally Hannibal starts to sob and squirm in earnest in his lap, Will knows they are close to his limit. Hannibal’s hands scratch at the couch, looking for leverage and something to claw at. One hand reaches back to grab onto Will’s leg and Will’s hand whips out to hold his head down by the back of the neck, his grip secure but not cruel. His hand does not falter, hitting just as quick and hard as he had started, until Hannibal’s voice breaks around his name.

Hannibal does not seem to realise he has stopped, whimpering into the couch, Will’s name tumbling out of his mouth in a quivering litany. Will strokes his hair and his bruised skin as he waits for his cries to relent. It takes a few minutes for the heaving breaths to even out, and for the shaking to subside, but Hannibal eventually comes back to himself.

He sniffles, rubbing his face against his forearms. Will pulls him up into his lap and holds him tightly, rocking him from back and forth until he calms down.

After long minutes of cuddling, he kisses Hannibal’s sweaty temple and asks softly, “Feeling better?”

Hannibal nods against his shoulder. “Thank you, Will,” he says, his voice hoarse from crying. He clears his throat.

Will kisses his cheek. “Did it work? Do you still feel homicidal?”

Hannibal chuckles, “No, I think that settled me. It’s a nice feeling actually. Leaves me… floaty. Even more so than when you have me serve you.”

“Released a pleasant hormone soup in your head, huh?”

“Yes, indeed,” Hannibal says, his lips stretching in a smile.

Will swoops in to catch that smile with his own, kissing and nipping that soft, plump mouth.

“We could schedule this as well,” Will says between kisses, “If spankings settle your mind, we can easily clear a spot in our weekly schedule for a session.”

“That would be great,” Hannibal agrees before his mouth is caught again.

* * *

The schedule becomes their life. They slip into it so smoothly they might as well have done it for years now.

Hannibal has spent his entire life laden with various burdens, mostly self imposed, and being suddenly freed of them is dizzying. No responsibilities to bother with, only orders to obey. Combined with Will’s natural provider streak, their new dynamic fits seamlessly with the new life they settled in.

But the thing with everything going so smoothly is that there never was a point where they had to officialise this dynamic. A pity, when the both of them are so fond of grand gestures.

“Will? A package for you just arrived,” Hannibal says as he enters the living room where Will is working on his lures.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” He stands to retrieve the small, flat square box from Hannibal’s hands and gestures him towards the couch. “It’s for you actually, come.”

Hannibal’s breath hitches, already guessing what lies inside. He kneels in front of Will almost giddy with excitement, as Will unwraps the box and opens the lid to reveal a rich brown leather collar.


End file.
